


Ship Repair

by divisionten



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Lost in Translation, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisionten/pseuds/divisionten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things on the Milano are an easy fix. Others need a more... creative... form of patching up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ship Repair

"Hey, Rocket, c'mere. I could use a hand. Paw. Whatever. I could use your expertise." Quill was shouting from the bulkhead and it meant something was wrong with the ductwork or the water system based on where Rocket pinpointed the source of the yelling with his exceptional hearing.

Rocket pushed the grating aside, and scooted out of the vent shaft he had turned into his nest, a mix of old sheets and Groot's discarded branches from Xandar. He was a person, no question, but some old habits die hard. Plus the grating was better temperature controlled. Nobody argued with him on that front, even if they didn't believe him.

On the subject of habits dying hard, Rocket had decided enough was enough. No, not being asked to handle repairs; he enjoyed that and it gave him something to do. Well more than enjoyed. Pride. He had pride in the fact that the ship ran as well as it did due to his skill. It was that same pride, however, that made him as pissed off as he was.

Rocket scrambled over to where Quill was banging irritably with a wrench on the pipe. It looked like he was fumbling around to find a blockage in the septic system.

"Hey, Pete," Rocket said, climbing up the pipe work to put an ear to the area in question, trying to narrow down the source of the blockage. "Coudja do me a favor and say my name again, slowly?"

"The heck?" Quill responded, still banging away.

"Yeah. And face me when you do."

"Whatever you say, man," Quill replied. "Roooooockeeeeet. Done. Were you trying to record me being a dumb Terran?" he said, hiding a smile, "because I'm pretty sure the Gramosian Duchess and about half the galaxy can attest to that already."

Rocket frowned, as much as he could, given the mobility of the muscles in his muzzle. He hoped it came off as mild irritation and not 'will bite off your face', but he wasn't too sure. "You're sayin' my name wrong," he finally sputtered out, as he crawled between two pipes.

"What?"

"My name. It's Rocket. Not Rocket."

"You lost me, bud." Quill genuinely looked puzzled. Rocket tried another tactic, realizing that Peter didn't even realize that what he was doing offended him.

"Look up for a second, okay?" Quill looked up, and Rocket launched into a colorful explanation. "This is what your mouth did when you said my name," Rocket said as he contorted his muzzle into the long "o" sound followed by a short "e".

"I got no idea what you actually said," Rocket continued, "but it shouldn't look like that at all. Heck, you aren't even pronouncing it right, but I originally chalked that one up to a misunderstandin'. It's Roooooooockeeeeeet," Rocket said, slowly drawing out the three syllables of his name.

Quill looked confused for a few moments, and then dawned on the realization that it was a translation issue. People who had translation implants or earbuds (which was basically anyone older than a grade schooler) often forgot about language barriers because the devices were so good. Most of the time. Names were occasionally hit or miss, depending on the weirdness thereof.

"Oh great, now I'm going to notice that your mouth doesn't match with what I'm hearing you say for the rest of the day. Is there some way to game the system so I know how to say it?" Quill asked.

No laughing, no smile on Quill's face. He was serious. If this bothered Rocket, it bothered him too. Quill banged angrily on another section of pipe, trying to dislodge the septic blockage and vent his frustration in one fell strike. "Hey, wait, first off, can I try something? Say my name please, and look at me. I want to know if this is a problem for everybody or just you. Because you definitely say Peter Quill right. On my end of the translation, at least."

"Peeeteeeer Quiiiiiill," Rocket replied, carefully enunciating, feeling a bit stupid in the process.

"No, that totally matches up. Weird."

"Yeah, well now I'm paying close attention to you and all I can see is a terrible film dub," Rocket said, cocking half a smirk. "Also, found the block. It's over here," he said, tapping a corner section of the septic tubing.

"Hey, everybody," Quill yelled, loud enough that anyone on the ship could hear. "Turning off the septic system for a few. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT flush the toilets, run the sinks, or the shower." Quill waited about half a minute, satisfied, and shut off the septic system.

"Even-odd. Loser cleans it out?" Rocket asked, fishing out a few small objects from his vest pocket. Quill nodded, and Rocket turned his back, placing some of them in his paw.

"Even," Quill said without a second to think. Rocket opened. Four. Well flarg. He was going to need a long hot shower after this. Rocket banged on it tentatively, and, upon hearing a hollow reply, unscrewed a section of the pipe and looked inside.

"It's not as bad as I was expecting," he grunted. "And definitely not Groot or Drax's fault. Tweezers and an incinerator bag, please?" Quill complied, and handed him the objects.

Rocket slowly tweezed out the largest, most disgusting hairball Quill had ever seen. Rocket was nonplussed, he'd certainly seen bigger.

Quill quickly opened the bag underneath the open pipe and Rocket carefully yanked out the rest of the blackish, gooey, wet mess. It plopped into the bag below with a sickly squelch, and Quill immediately closed it up and ran to toss it in the incinerator while Rocket replace the piping and turned the septic system back online. Thankfully, he'd gotten none of it on his paws and quickly dropped the now gooey tweezers into a sanitation tray.

"Team meeting?" Quill asked, poking his head into the open doorway.

"Team meeting," Rocket replied, cracking his back as he stood upright.

* * *

 The five of them sat in the bulkhead, now converted into a rec room of sorts. A quarter section had been carpeted, with a small projector for broadcast entertainment and what Quill called movies, another quarter- the one with the sloped ceiling, so everyone but Rocket had to crawl- was a small workshop, strewn with copies of one of Gamora's implants so Rocket could learn how to repair it if the need arose. The other half of the room had been left as it was before- an open cargo space now used for team meetings, sparing practice, and, on occasion, actual cargo.

Right now, the five of them- Groot, about the size of a Terran teenager, with Rocket curled up in his lap, Gamora, playing with one of the prototype parts in her fingers, Drax, sharpening another knife, and Quill, messing around with a new Terran doodad he'd picked up from their last stop- sat in a diamond shape. Both Rocket and Quill cleared their throats and spoke at the same time.

"Everybody, we need to talk," Quill said, brightly, in a non-accusatory tone.

"Gamora, we need to talk," Rocket said flatly, in a non-accusatory tone.

"Wait, what?" Quill asked, surprised, "I thought it would be better if we addressed everyone."

"Well, you and me already know 'bout it and Drax and Groot ain't contributing to the issue." Beat of silence.

"Oh. The hair. No, I already put in a drain catch. I was talking about the other thing."

Rocket looked down, away from the team, suddenly very interested in the bottom right buckle of his vest. "It's not that important. It's just a translation error."

"Error?" Drax asked.

"None of you are saying my name right," Rocket finally said, sheepishly. "Well, other than Groot. When everyone else said it wrong, I thought they was disrespectin' me. Now I really think it might be an implant issue."

"How should we pronounce it, then?" Gamora said.

"And that's the problem," Quill butted in. "The implants should recognize a name and leave it in its original language. But all I hear is Rocket. Like a weapon rocket or a spaceship rocket."

"Those two words sound nothing alike to me. Why would they be the same? I hear Rocket like a spaceship, but the weapon word in my language is different," Gamora replied.

"Maybe it doesn't work because rockets are also objects?" Quill asked.

"No," Drax replied, "because a drax is a kind of longsword in my language. But when I hear any of you yell to me I hear my name, not longsword. This is true of many names in our language."

"Hey, let's try that!" Quill said, as if he'd come to a realization.

"What?" Rocket said, sitting up.

"When Drax said what his name meant, he also said 'a drax'- as in a specific unique kind of sword, and I heard that word instead of just 'sword'. Maybe if you described exactly what it is, we'd hear your name."

"Uh, okay. It's not a weapon, it's a ship. A rocket is a class z stealth fighter from Halfword, the first ship I stole when I left. I started hailin' other craft by the ship name afterwards. Even when the thing got junked, I still used it. Among other bounty hunters, it'd become a name for me, too, at that point, and I guess it grew on me."

"Still hearing 'Rocket'." Quill said, sighing. "That should have worked."

"No, it shouldn't have." Gamora said slowly. "I understand now why we can't hear it."

"What, why?" Quill asked.

"Rocket, you picked the name of a classified vessel as your own. Unless someone else speaks whatever language you do, all they are going to hear is one of their own general words for spacecraft."

"I am Groot." Groot said, shaking the room with his ever deepening voice.

"That's… actually a really good idea," Rocket replied. "Write it out. I can read and write in eight different languages. Among you guys, each knowing maybe what, two each? We might be able to write this out phonetically."

Rocket pulled out a tablet from his work bench and drew out his name in phonetics in every language he could, passing it to Gamora when done. Her eyes darted though the page.

"You know Kree. Good. Let me try." She coughed into her hand, and then tried reading the phonetic intonations. "Naaah-koooor-aaaaaath"

"All I'm still hearing is Rooooooockeeeeeet," Quill said, dejected.

"Yeah, but I didn't," Rocket said.

Quill grabbed the tablet and read through his options. "I don't know any of these, though."

Gamora snatched it back and added in every language she knew as well (four more, Rocket noted, probably from dealing with her siblings of varying origins), before passing the tablet to Drax. "Oh, I can read two," he said, pleased with himself, adding another three languages to the list, before trying to pronounce Rocket's name.

"I heard it properly this time," Gamora added cheerfully. "Hopefully our additions are enough," she added, passing the tablet to Quill.

"Yeah, he said, "I know this one. Let me try. Naaah-koooor-aaaaaath," Quill added, carefully enunciating the best he could, and adding two more languages to the list.

Rocket- Nakorath- was grinning so wide he actually looked like he'd bite.

* * *

 About two months later, when the ship was drydocked on Xandar for maintenance and payment from Nova for their last mission, a few Corps officers peeked into the Milano. It looked pretty average for a private mercenary ship. Messy, but not unlivable, valuable or breakable items (what few there were) neatly stowed and locked, and the parts needed for the ship running in top condition in perfect order. Weapons secured in a case by the entry, close enough for occupants to grab if needed but far enough that intruders couldn't use immediately upon busting in if the situation arose.

But there was one curious item of note. Against the far wall of the galley, was a poster, tacked up to the grating. Each of the five occupant's faces were scribbled on, with lettering in a neat hand below, in seventeen different languages.


End file.
